The first thing Malum saw when he opened his eyes was a pair of Vorox. His first thought was that all of it—the attack by the Skrall, his capture—had been a bad dream. He had certainly had plenty of those lately.

But, no—these Vorox were in chains. Being desert dwellers, the Vorox hated any kind of confinement. It was sheer torture for them. Malum had no doubt that a Vorox penned in too long would simply lose the will to live. Rage grew in his heart for whoever had shackled these "beasts," and he already knew who that was: the Skrall.

He looked up to see two of that hated species standing over him. One was a warrior, like those who had attacked his camp. The other was much taller, clad in green and black armor, and obviously in command.

"I am Tuma," said the leader. "And you are Malum, disgraced Glatorian and friend to…the animals."

"You are the trash of the desert," Malum growled. "And I am the one who will celebrate at your grave."

The Skrall warrior walked over to where Malum lay and kicked him in the side.

"That's no way to talk," said Tuma. "I brought you here to have a conversation."

Malum got painfully to his feet. His wrists and ankles were surprisingly not shackled. Tuma had a great deal of confidence, it seemed.

"You brought me here for revenge," said the ex-Glatorian. "My people bloodied yours and you can't stand that."

The warrior moved to strike Malum again, but Tuma stopped him. "Stand down. You are…half-right, Malum. Your Vorox have proven to be an annoyance lately. But killing you, though no doubt a great deal of fun, would not change that. Believe me, if I wanted you dead, even your pets would be unable to find all the pieces."

Malum looked around. He was in the city of Roxtus, filled with rock Agori and Skrall troops. The place was notorious for welcoming Glatorian inside and then never letting them leave. He could see Agori guards all along the walls and Skrall patrols entering and leaving at a constant pace. It was not a spot one dropped by for a visit.

"Then why am I here?"

"You control the Vorox," said Tuma, gesturing to the pathetic, chained creatures. "They do what you command. That makes you a threat…or a potentially valuable ally. But before we could make any arrangement with you, we would have to see proof that you really can make these beasts do what you say."

"And if I refuse?" asked Malum, already sure of the answer.

Tuma smiled. On him, it was an ugly expression. "Then we send you back to your friends, of course…so they can have a funeral, or whatever ritual they do to honor the dead."

"That's what I thought," Malum replied.

The Skrall had it all wrong, of course. They assumed he had some mysterious power to control the Vorox, but he did not. He had won dominance of the pack by defeating its previous leader in single combat. As long as he led them to food and water and kept them away from unnecessary danger—in other words, as long as he was an effective pack leader—they would follow him. But they did it as free beings, not as slaves. The Skrall, he knew, did not want allies—they wanted soldiers they could sacrifice without hesitation.

"Take him to the arena," Tuma ordered. The Skrall warrior grabbed Malum roughly by the arm and dragged him to the Glatorian arena in the center of the large settlement. Chained against the far wall were two more Vorox, both members of Malum's own pack. A plan began to form in his mind, but it would depend on a great many unknown factors. How hungry and desperate were the Vorox? Too far gone to remember him? Would they understand what he was trying to do?

A half dozen Skrall warriors appeared, ringing the sides of the arena. A seventh took a position in a box behind the Vorox. At Tuma's signal, he released the chains that held the beasts prisoner.

The two Vorox charged toward Malum. He could tell even from a distance they had been mistreated. They were eager for prey, and might not care who or what it would be. But he stood his ground, making direct eye contact with first one Vorox, then the other. Then he raised his right arm and brought it down slowly, all the while giving a low whistle.

The Vorox slowed, then stopped completely. They sank down to all fours and looked up at Malum, expectantly. To the Skrall watching, it looked like a miracle: two savage beasts tamed in an instant.

"It's really quite easy, once you gain their respect," Malum said, never taking his eyes off the Vorox. "Judging from their wounds, I would say they at least respect your capacity to inflict punishment."

"My warriors could be trained to do this?" asked Tuma. The Vorox had been a problem ever since the Skrall started capturing them. Now and then, they broke loose and did a lot of damage before they could be subdued or killed.

"They have seen me do it," Malum answered. "I am sure they could do it themselves now."

The six Skrall warriors advanced on the beasts, who remained motionless at their approach. "Let them go," Tuma said to Malum.

Malum gave a short, sharp whistle. The Vorox sprang to life, wild again. The Skrall grabbed them immediately and dragged them back to the other end of the arena, struggling to hold them still. Tuma ordered the Skrall who had kicked Malum forward. He would be the lucky one to show his newfound mastery of the Vorox.

At Tuma's signal, the other warriors released their bestial captives. The Vorox charged toward the lone warrior who waited for them. In a perfect imitation of Malum's action, the Skrall raised and lowered his arm while whistling in just the same tone as he had heard. The effect was stunning, at least to him.

The Vorox didn't stop. They didn't even slow down. They struck the Skrall like twin avalanches, and once he was down, headed for Tuma. Malum took advantage of the confusion to snatch up the fallen warrior's weapon. He sprang out of the arena and shattered the chains holding another pair of Vorox with one swing.

"This way, brothers!" he yelled, charging for the gate.

The Vorox fell back and started after him, the Skrall in pursuit. The Agori at the gate, seeing a crazed Malum and four Vorox headed for them, wisely dove out of the way. A Thornax blast took out one of the Vorox, and another blast wounded a second. But Malum and the surviving two made it through the gate and out into the desert.

Tuma angrily got to his feet, ignoring the wounds inflicted by the Vorox. "After them! Drag them back here!" he shouted.

The Skrall would dutifully fan out into the desert in search of the escapees, but they would not find them. The Vorox network of tunnels extended even here, and Malum and his two pack mates had found refuge underground. When night fell, they would emerge and start the long trek back home.

The desert is a place of extremes, Malum said to himself. Blazing heat, chilling cold, fierce loyalty…and deep hatred. The Skrall won't forget this day…and to their bitter regret, neither will I.

X X X

Makuta's Diary - 1

I am Makuta Teridax. And this is the story of how I came to be the supreme ruler of all that is and all that ever will be in this universe. In the beginning, the Great Beings created a universe, filled it with life, and appointed the Great Spirit Mata Nui to watch over it. Mata Nui created myself and my fellow Makuta to help him.

For thousands of years, we created the beasts that roamed and swam and flew. We watched over the Matoran villagers and protected the peace. And then came a day when we led our armies against the rebellious Barraki warlords, defeating them. They had hoped to overthrow Mata Nui and seize power. That was when I realized that they could never hope to achieve such a goal…but I could do it. I could rule a universe!

Makuta, the Great Spirit

X X X

Strakk slammed his Ice Axe on the table so hard that the stone plate splintered with a sharp crack. The sound made Metus wince. "No!" said Strakk. "No. Definitely not."

Metus frowned. The Agori Ice Tribe villager had been acting as trainer of warriors and promoter of Glatorian matches for many years. He was used to dealing with stubborn warriors, but most of them didn't react as quick-tempered as Strakk. He should have expected it, though. Especially for a Glatorian like Strakk, everything was about profit. It was a running joke in the village of Iconox that Strakk wouldn't even open his eyes in the morning unless it would benefit him somehow.

For a moment, Metus considered giving up. Then he thought twice, for Strakk's agreement was very important to him. "You owe me a favor," Metus told him. "Where would you be without me? And how often do I ask a favor of you?"

"Hm, there was that match against Kiina last month," Strakk replied. "And at your request I helped with the training of that bully, who then completely forgot it was just a practice match and sent me into a healer's barracks for weeks. Oh, and then there was…"

"All right, all right," snapped Metus. "You don't need to tell me the story of your life. This is a quick and easy job, won't take longer than a week, and it'll be well paid. Do you want it or not?" Metus was lying, of course. He had to lie often when negotiating with his fighters. The job he had offered Strakk would be neither quick nor easy.

The village of Iconox had to send a shipment of the valuable metal Exsidian to the village of Vulcanus, payment for a match another Glatorian named Gelu, Second Glatorian of Iconox, had lost to Ackar, Prime Glatorian of the Fire Tribe. Gelu received arena training from the legendary Certavus. As a Glatorian, Gelu was skillful and effective, but he saw it as just a job. He wanted to win, but he had no real interest in becoming a tournament champion or going down in history as a great fighter. All he wanted was to serve his village and live comfortably as a result. If he had been more ambitious, he probably would have become Prime Glatorian in place of Strakk at some point in recent years.

To pay the loss, under normal circumstances the carriage would take the shortest route, southeast through the Dunes of Treason and then directly to the Fire village. Not the safest route in the world, but one that was used very often.

Located northeast of the village of Tajun, the Dunes of Treason were frequently traveled by traders and others moving between Vulcanus, Tajun, and Tesara. The area got its name by being a prime hunting ground for the Vorox. Innocent-looking sand dunes often turned out to conceal the savage beasts, making it impossible to trust one's eyes there. Despite its dangers, it offered direct routes.

In recent weeks, though, a group of barbaric nomads called the Bone Hunters had changed the dunes into a lethal trap. For reasons they hadn't revealed, they were about to sever trading connections between villages, especially with the Water Tribe village, Tajun. The result was that every caravan that moved through the desert was in danger. Worse, the Bone Hunters weren't content with simply robbing the goods—they also killed the coachmen.

Bone Hunters were related to the Rock Tribe Agori, but broke off from them many thousands of years ago. Where the Rock Tribe lived in villages or cities, Bone Hunters were nomads with no fixed settlements. They preferred not to be part of any social system, and lived as thieves and raiders in the wastelands. Their lack of organization and unwillingness to form alliances has been the only thing that has kept them from being a truly major threat in the past.

The Ice village of Iconox didn't have a choice; the carriage had to be sent on its way. If they refused to pay after a lost battle, their fighters would no longer be welcome in the arenas of Bara Magna. So now it was about finding a route on which they could transport their goods safely all the way to Vulcanus.

"Well, let's see," said Strakk. "You want to send a fully loaded carriage eastward through the Black Spike Mountains, over the Dark Falls and then through Creep Canyon. Every single one of these places is more dangerous than a Sand Bat with sunburn. And you want me to guard this cargo on its way. Did I get that straight?"

"Yes," Metus nodded.

"No," said Strakk. "I'm a Glatorian. I fight for my village if it needs something from another village and I'm paid well for it. I'm no guard or guide or errand boy. I fight against other Glatorian in an arena. I don't fight against Bone Hunters. They have the nasty habit of killing everyone who fights them."

Metus had to admit that Strakk was right. No one dealt with Bone Hunters if it could be avoided. Their mounts, called Rock Steeds, possessed rows of sharp teeth in powerful jaws and scary, scorpion-like stinger tails. These reptilian beasts were good ones to stay away from. Rock Steeds had enhanced senses of vision, hearing, and smell. Their sense of smell was so fine they could sense a foe from miles away.

And regarding the Hunters themselves, they hadn't survived millennia in the Wastelands by just being friendly. They were ruthless, violent and greedy. If they possessed a virtue, then it was their endurance—they rarely gave up a chase—and they were very thorough. After an attack there was nothing left standing. The Skrall, too, had been known to use Rock Steeds as mounts, due to their toughness, loyalty to their rider, and fierce combat skills.

The Agori left Strakk's shelter. The Glatorian followed him and kept talking.

"And don't forget the Skrall—you remember them, don't you? Huge, black-armored, turning people to mincemeat just for fun? Who do you think lives up in the Black Spike Mountains?"

"Calm down," said Metus. "Listen. We've hired the best."

Metus pointed toward the fully loaded carriage. On the coachman's seat sat an Iconox Agori—Kirbold—and a green-armored Agori from the village of Tesara. On the Sand Stalker next to the carriage sat a Glatorian Strakk identified as Gresh. "Since when does Tesara send their Glatorian and Agori to help Iconox?" Strakk asked.

"Since the Bone Hunters' attacks are starting to get them, too," answered Metus. "They want to find out for themselves whether this new route works. If that's the case, they can use them too. The Agori's name is Tarduk. He's said to know the wilderness." Metus turned around and stared at Strakk. "Iconox wants one of their Glatorian to join this tour—you'll surely understand why. If you agree, I am sure I could manage to get you some matches in Vulcanus…to show everyone what heroism you will show here."

Strakk laughed out loud. "I know everything about heroes. They're the ones who get buried in holes in the ground. And when they're lucky, someone will place a marker in the earth above their heads. But I'm not unreasonable…not much. So I shall go…for double the reward."

Metus swallowed hard. That would mean Iconox would have to get a lot of weapons, armor and supplies for Strakk. But he obviously didn't have any other choice. If Iconox were to neglect their payment duty to Vulcanus, the whole system of solving conflicts between villages by Glatorian matches would be at risk. In the end, that would mean one of the worst things ever…he would lose his job.

"Deal," the trainer said. "I will explain it somehow to the village elder. Get ready for departure."

"I'm already ready," Strakk said smiling. "See to it that my prize is ready. I'll soon be back to get it."

Only if you're lucky, Metus thought. And where you're going, you may need more than luck.